Theo entered the room oozing with anxious energy, though that was nothing new. After fumbling with his hat, coat, and shoes, he sat beside her on the bed. His discomfort matched hers, if for entirely separate reasons. Still, Theo’s misguided love emboldened him to make the first move. Doing her best to focus on the fact that he was a relatively good man—a sweet, foolish man—helped her abstain from cringing. He hadn’t known what to do with his tongue when he kissed her; she recalled it feeling dreadfully like a worm as it pried her lips open. Save for Achard’s single, nauseating attempt at forced affection in her youth, this had been her first kiss. She didn’t like it then, and she didn’t like it now.

“You taste like rich, ripe plums,” he’d said with a poet’s conviction.

She’d been told as much throughout her life. Even Amaris had commented a time or two on how her very skin had shimmered with the scent of plum. How pleasant for him, she thought. Through substantial willpower, she resisted the urge to respond by telling him that he tasted like stewed turnips.

Attempting a picture of heroism, he fumbled an attempt to scoop her onto her back. He failed, and she wriggled somewhat uncomfortably backward on her elbows to position herself toward the center of the bed. He kissed her on the mouth far too many times, which she found particularly repugnant, and desperately wished he’d go ahead and get whatever was supposed to happen over with. She shut her eyes, which he took as a sign of endearment. Let him think what he must. She had every intention to use this as an opportunity to visit the detached void where she could float when she couldn’t exist within herself. She’d gone there while suffering the bishop’s wrath. She’d gone there when she’d been left on the landing outside of the kitchen. And she would go there now.

Theo kissed the soft parts of her body gently. Perhaps if it had been someone else, the sensations might have been pleasant. She tried to imagine what it would be like if someone she loved were against her shoulder, her neck, her stomach.

She squeezed her eyes tightly and thought of another mouth, of other lips. She was glad Theo’s face was too distracted with burrowing himself against her flesh to see how intently she scrunched up her face and eyes to block out his movements. She needed to relax if she was going to succeed at drifting off into the dark, shadowed nothingness.

She exhaled slowly through her nose and felt the darkness behind her eyes deepen as it accepted her.